Seriously...WTF? I see guys riding with one hand frequently, usually sport bike riders trying to rest a sore hand, but they keep that hand close to grip. A cell phone is bad enough in a car, but on a bike...?

Friday

All right, the kitties have been on nothing but dry food for a month now, and there's always 2 filled dishes for them to graze in, 24 hours a day. So why are they still demanding I get out of bed in the morning to come downstairs--where instead of running to the kitchen where they expect me to open cans, they run to their dishes--and watch them eat?

Is it really that important that I witness the consumption of the Iams MultiCat crunchy wonder? They manage to do this all by themselves several times a day...why won't the kitties let me sleep until noon?

Wednesday

The Spouse Thingy has been off for about a week, so instead of putting this house together (it still looks like a bomb went off in here...I am just not motivated to get it done) we made a effort to do a few things. Like a movie (3:10 To Yuma...is was ok) but we went to the theater with the crappy popcorn, which really should be a crime, because a theater is supposed to have popcorn that's at least edible...

On Saturday we took a trip to Denio's, a huge flea market/farmer's market up near Sacramento. I made it halfway through before the Spouse Thingy had to go to the car and get the wheelchair. Then I got enjoy shopping other people junk at everyone else's butt height. It was wonderful. I did find a nice hi-viz yellow sweatshirt, that was worth the trip. The Spouse Thingy found some really, really, really cheap tools. They'll break with the second use, but who can pass up really, really, really cheap tools?

Yesterday we braved the traffic and went into San Francisco to go through the Museum of Modern Art. There were a few really cool things, like the light spectrum wall pictured here. It was really trippy to get up close, until my entire field of vision was just this wall, watching it cycle through the full color spectrum. I imagine it would be quite a bit more fun if one was a little, um, high... We also discovered that we're not big fans of modern art. Half of what we saw looked like it had been done by a six year old hopped up on sugar and caffeine, and half of the other half was like "why is that art? Why is stringing a bunch of light bulbs together and hanging them from the ceiling considered art?"

Across from the museum was a nice park...with a really long ramp where the Spouse Thingy threatened to let go of the chair (again, long walk, hard surfaces, it was needed...) I shouldn't have been, but I was surprised by how many people hit us up for money in a 2 block radius.

Today we took a bike ride, and stopped to take a picture of my shiny toy, with its new handlebar risers and mirror extenders. You're impressed, I know you are.

Wednesday

I deliberately did not post anything yesterday. Everyone knew what day it was. Tons of blogs had moments of silence or tributes posted. I had nothing to add to it, other than possible reflection. I didn't want to go on about what I was doing that day, how I found out. I've probably posted about it before and it's a pretty boring thing to post about how you were woken up by a phone call.

But I didn't avoid posting because the tributes and rememberances are boring. They're not. They're important and speak volumes about not forgetting, and how deep the wounds still are.

I spent the day doing the things I usually do; we took a bike ride, going by the YMCA to sign up for a few months (turns out an unheated pool gets very cold when it's not especially hot out, and I need the pool...) and other assorted places. We ran to the mall, had horrible, horrible Chinese food which we wound up throwing away.

Everyday things. But it was there in my head, not even in the back of my mind, because as I zoomed along on my bike I kept thinking that all along I've pretty much felt that I was so lucky because I didn't lose anyone in any of the attacks...but it's not true. I felt the weight of that yesterday, the reality that I did lose someone.

I lost a friend. Her brother was on the 95th floor of the first WTC building hit. We'd been friends for several years, emailed almost daily, but the pain of losing her brother and the horror...she faded away, and neither I nor our common friends have heard from her since early 2002. We don't know if she's even alive anymore--she'd had two small heart attacks before 9/11--and we don't know if she's ever escaped the darkness that swooped down over her when she realized she'd lost her brother.

I miss her friendship. I miss her wisdom. I miss her constant misuse of "whom;" it made me smile.

I hope she's still out there, and happy, and has just moved along to other things. I hope she's had grandkids--I think that would make her incredibly happy--and that she's finally living where she always wanted to.

My loss doesn't measure on any scale comparable to those families who lost people in the attacks, which is why I didn't post. But still...I miss my friend, and I spent most of yesterday wishing I knew she was okay, and knowing that I'll probably never find out.

Saturday

The base refill pharmacy is staffed mostly by volunteers; all they do is look at your ID card and get the last four numbers of the SSN needed, go to the shelf and find your medication, and then hand it over. Once in a while they ask for your Yellow Card, a non-issue sort of thing that identifies whether or not you have other insurance.

Most of these volunteers are retirees, and they approach their duties seriously, but they're friendly enough. At the very least if you say "Hi" you get a hello in return.

But there's this one guy...he's about as old as Methuselah and moves with the speed of an arthritic snail. He's on oxygen and carries the cannister in a sling on his back, and he's a bit of a grump. But he's entitled; I'd be grumpy if I was that old, trying to read teeny tiny print, handing out pills to all those Get Off My Lawn people.

It was just my luck that he was at the window I wound up at today. I said "Hello," not expecting an answer, he called me "sir." I blew it off, no big deal. It happens. He shuffled off to find my meds, and I waited. And waited. And waited a bit more. I was wearing a mesh motorcycle jacket and was more than a little warm and was sweating, but that was all right. I should have taken it off.

When he came back he asked to check my yellow card. Fine, no problem; I pulled it out of my wallet and showed it to him, realizing as I handed it over that it had expired in March. That's not a problem; they'll still give you your meds, but they want you to get a current card for No Obvious Reason.

He pulled the forms from behind the desk, and asked "Do you have a wife?"

"Um, no," said I, trying not to sound snotty, "but I have a husband."

He paused, holding onto the papers. "But you ride a motorcycle."

"Yes." I clicked my fingernails on the top of my helmet, which was resting on the counter.

"You're a woman."

"Yes."

"But you ride a motorcycle!"

Clearly, he could not comprehend that it does not require testicles to maneuver two wheels. And apparently, my lacking them meant that I could not have the forms required to obtain a new Yellow Card, as he pulled them back and put them away.

I shrugged it off, grabbed my meds, and walked away before I made his head explode.

Friday

I was invited to join this rather bizarre email ring yesterday. Sibling Slam. Remember the Slam Books in high school, those vicious tomes wherein one would scribble something horrible and cruel about someone else in the class? This was basically a high school slam book wrapped up in a giant mass email ring, wherein one writes something horrible and cruel about a sibling, apparently for the sheer joy of spite.

Because of the nature of my siblings, I decided to play along, and sent in this:

OMG y'all would not BELIEVE my sisters! SERIOUSLY. One time, when we were dead broke and had a baby to feed and clothe, I had this horrible, raging, unbearable toothache, and you know what one of my sisters did? DO YOU?

She gave me a blank check so that I could go to the dentist. A BLANK CHECK! I could fill in any amount needed!

Really, who needs a sister like that?

For some reason I cannot fathom, I was quickly disinvited to participate in Sibling Slam. I'm so ashamed, and hurt.

Thursday

Dear Old People At The Commissary,

Granted, while you have earned the right to shop with your cart turned sideways in the aisles, and you have earned the right to be a little bit slow, please remember there are other people grocery shopping around you, and if one of them acts as if she MUST get past you and SOON, please shuffle to one side or the other of your cart and let her get by, lest very nasty things happen, things which no poor commissary clerk should have to clean up.

Tuesday

It's what, Tuesday? Since we turned in the keys to the other house, I have done absolutely nothing of worth. For the most part I have kept my ample ass in a chair and played with my computer or watched TV; I did empty a couple of boxes in an attempt to find pots and pans, but I didn't find what I was looking for, and I didn't feel like doing anything else.

Until today, I just didn't have the energy to put things away. A week of hauling stuff, boxes upon boxes, and furniture and utter crapola left me pretty much exhausted (and a few pounds lighter, w00t!) The Spouse Thingy was pretty freaking tired, too, but he had to go to work regardless (where he watched Heroes on DVD and spent time gabbing with his student, so don't feel too sorry for him.)

Today, I had energy, but our poor bikes had not been out for a ride in over a week and they missed us, so we felt obligated to take advantage of this odd cool day and take them out. And then we had shopping to do--damn thing about moving into new places is that the curtains rarely fit from one place to the next--and there was a lengthy visit to the bank... so nothing got put away today, either.

I have high hopes for tomorrow. Surely I will have energy again, and will dive into all those boxes in the garage with gusto.

And monkeys will fly out of my butt, too.

Chances are, I'll putter around, get distracted by the pool or the hot tub (we are NEVER living without a hot tub again) or even go shopping for lamps, because for whatever reason, this house has no overhead lights in any room.

Saturday

I am surrounded by boxes and assorted piles of barely identifiable stuff, but I haven't made much effort to put anything away. My feet hurt--it's like walking on bruises--and my back hurts more than usual, so I'm pretty much just sitting on my butt today. The Spouse Thingy had to go to work; me, I'm just playing online.

We turned in the keys to the other house yesterday and had our suspicions confirmed: the owner is in over his head and the house will be foreclosed on. I suppose the only one trying to sell it will be the bank, but who knows when. The lawn will die, the landscaping will go to pot, and it will eventually just look like crap, which is a shame because it's an awesome house.

I rarely miss places once we've moved out, but I'll miss that house. We're already finding things we like about this one: it seems to be better insulated, and the upstairs is not brutally hot even with the a/c running; the hot tub and the pool; the special nook in the garage where 2 of the 3 bike fit nicely. It's nice enough and has enough going for it that I won't mourn having moved out of the house next door, but I will miss it.

Now, if only the moving fairy would wave her magic wand and put everything away for me...

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Doctor Who Quotes

There's something that doesn't make sense. Let's go and poke it with a stick.

We're all stories in the end. Just make it a good one, eh?

Every time you see them happy, you remember how sad they're going to be. And it breaks your heart. Because what's the point in them being happy now if they're going to be sad later? And the answer is, of course, because they're going to be sad later.

The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice versa the bad things don’t always spoil the good things and make them unimportant.

Do you know, in nine hundred years of time and space I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t important before.

If it’s time to go, remember what you’re leaving. Remember the best. My friends have always been the best of me.